


Spring Treats

by Aithilin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Domestic Fluff, Drabble Collection, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Seasonal Treats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-06 21:52:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18225881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: A collection of fluffy spring sweets.Part 1:  Ravus/NoctisPart 2: Ignis / NoctisPart 3: Nyx/Noctis





	1. Cheerful Cherry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JazzRaft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazzRaft/gifts).



Spring tore through Tenebrae on the wings of Zephyr and Sylph. Fields and forests of blossoms left in a matter of days as the winds swept through the chill and last remnants of barren winter. The windstorms that shook the kingdom’s capital— the royal Manor, the city of shining forested wealth suspended over the chasms carved by Astrals and magics— carried the grey clouds of winter as they blew through.

Eos reborn after the stuffy long nights of cold, cruel winters, as Lunafreya would say. As she did say, as she addressed her faithful. 

“I’m sorry, Ravus,” she had said as she prepared for this latest journey. This latest pilgrimage across the world as she attended to faith and fate before family. “I’ll bring you something wonderful, I promise.”

He had waved the thought away with a smile, and promised to leave the Manor standing as his sister and mother travelled their lands. The Oracle Queen and the Oracle-in-training. Leaving the prince behind with his own duties to attend. His own tasks to oversee. 

His own birthday to observe. 

“You’re sulking.”

“I do not sulk, boy.”

“That’s not really a convincing way to say that.” Noctis had arrived with minimal announcement; the Royal Lucian well wishes of the season, so he claimed. Ravus refused to admit that the company was appreciated. “Want to try again?”

The Lucians had their own celebrations, their own traditions. The warmth of spring was short lived in the expansive kingdom, Ravus knew, and the blossoms would be gone before Noctis was due to return. By now, the traditional ‘Golden Week’ would be ending; the bright blossoms that seemed so frail and fragile cultivated in the Lucian capital already fading as the heat of summer started to seep into the marrow of the land. Ravus recalled the ungodly heat from his own visits— the stench of Lucian cities, the winds and rains practically a blessing when they came. 

He supposed he could at least attempt to prevent Noctis from returning to such misery earlier than necessary. 

“I suppose you need entertaining?” He refused to look at the prince, at the little smirk he was far too familiar with already. At the casual manner the younger man moved within Ravus’ own rooms. He focused on the book in his hands, and not the uneven step that meant Noctis was favouring his old injuries again. 

He outright refused to acknowledge the tray being presented now. 

“Well?”

“Well what?”

Noctis beamed at him, as if his mood was a game— a puzzle to be solved, and he had stumbled across the answer. “Happy birthday.”

“Don’t start.”

“Iggy made this for you.”

“Then I suppose they might be poisoned.” The tray, not that he was giving the offering much thought, was laden with two small bowls. At a glance he could make out the crumbled cookie and candied cherry delicately placed next to a leaf of mint atop a generous serving of whipped cream. He could smell the sweet, cheerful dessert from where he sat. And he wanted it to churn his stomach, but his body refused his command. Just another traitor in the face of Noctis’ childish persistence. “There are two of them.”

“Yes.”

“I suppose you’re meant to have one?”

“Yes.” 

He could, technically refuse. Tenebrae was his home, his domain. No matter the small entourage Noctis brought with him on visits, Ravus was in charge here while his mother was away. 

He set the book aside and made room for Noctis next to him on the seat. “Have you done anything to annoy Scientia lately?”

“Probably enough to warrant a few poisonings.”

A sigh, and Ravus accepted the treat as Noctis continued to smile; “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Smiling. It makes you appear a fool.” He could see the cake beneath the toppings— a cheesecake, if he had to guess. Whipped and light, and already coloured with the sweet syrupy cherry layered beneath the crumble. 

“Maybe I am.”

“I’ll remember you said that.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Ravus refused to retreat as Noctis leaned close. He refused to acknowledge the peck to his cheek, and again to the corner of his mouth— though his traitorous body smiled at the attention. “Happy birthday, Rav.”

The heat on his face was not a blush, Ravus was certain of that. “Yes, you’ve said. Thank you.”

In the light of the spring day outside— the fragrant blossoms spilling in through the opened windows, the sky beyond the Fleurets’ own royal towers a dance of pinks and blues and whites and golds of their errant petals and blossoms— Ravus had resolved not to acknowledge that Noctis was here for him. He had always maintained his dedication to aloof affection; a soft touch, the grace of a small smile when earned. He had always maintained the mindset that Noctis was too immature for him, really. 

No more than a bit of fun to wile away the boredom. 

That had been all he expected when this first started. And then…

“Noctis,” it was a new year, after all. He could allow a show of weakness here and there, when there was more than just the blankets and dark around them— when they were outside of the warmth of a bed. Noctis hummed to acknowledge that his name had been said, and Ravus sighed, the annoyance he would have once pushed forward a small ember compared to the softer amusement at the sight of his lover’s curious look. Noctis held his spoon to his mouth, tongue out to lick at the cream and cherry syrup, eyes wide and expectant.

It was a new year. Ravus was obviously the more mature of them. He could stand to be the adult and acknowledge that he enjoyed spending this time with Noctis. 

If only to himself. 

“Would you like to go for a walk later to view the blossoms?”


	2. Pouding Chomeur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis wants to experiment with a rural delight.

“Do you need any help, Specs?”

The counter was laden with the scattered bowls in an unprecedented mess. Noctis had walked in as Ignis was stirring the ingredients together— the recipe, for once, not in his own writing on the well worn pages of a notebook. His tablet was propped against the barrier the fridge created off to the side, away from the imminent dangers of spilt cream and scattered sugar. 

“Stir that for me, darling?”

“How much?”

“Just to keep it from burning.”The saucepan on the stovetop bubbled happily as Noctis approached, the sweetness of the sugars and colour of caramel already a promising temptation as Ignis tried to manage everything in the new recipe at once. “The butter must be melted and the concoction smooth, I’m afraid.”

“Right,” Noctis eyed the mixture slipping from the wooden spoon before he settled into his task. The grains of sugar not quite dissolved from what he understood of Ignis’ idea of ‘smooth’. “I can do that.”

The cake batter Ignis was fussing with was more familiar.Noctis could recognise a fluffy white cake when he saw one, even if the scattered ingredients weren’t enough of a clue. He knew that creaming butter was an art for Ignis— it took concentration to perfect the consistency, to manage the ingredients into what could be deemed ‘fluffy’ by any kitchen standards. And Noctis wondered at the final product. 

Buttermilk and vanilla, and the batter remained light and creamy. Ignis measured by sight as he worked, the sauce bubbling beneath Noctis’ attentions until it earned him a glance and nod. “Off the heat, Noct, if you would. That looks about right.”

“About?”

“This is a new recipe, I’m afraid. I can only guess for now.”

The batter was spread across a small cake pan after consulting the tablet propped out of the way. 

“You look nervous,” Noctis held the sauce as instructed, the sweet steam an intoxicating promise of something decadent to come. 

Ignis’ glare was worth the little dig. A ladle was used to transfer the sticky, dripping, sweet concoction of sauce from pot to cake; dousing the batter in a layer of caramel coloured mess. “Hush.”

“What even is this?”

“Apparently,” Ignis had the look of concentration afforded meetings and conferences, of training with swords and daggers not dulled for safety; “it’s a popular spring treat in the rural areas of the kingdom. I thought it might be interesting to try.”

“Just on a whim?”

The cake was carefully transfered to the oven, the sauce and syrup mixture that had already started to seep through the batter sloshing with each small movement.

“Well, no,” a timer was set and Ignis visibly relaxed once the cake was safely where it should be. “I had wanted to try this for some time.”

The kitchen was in more chaos than usual after an experiment; sacks of flour and sugar were left to be tucked away in dry cupboards, and butter left to warm near the stove that now needed to chill. Milk and the remnants of eggs were scattered, and there was a distinct sticky drip onto the counter from a tall bottle that seemed to be at the epicentre of the mess. On inspection, Noctis could see the syrup on Ignis’ clothes and hands from where he tried to manage the ingredient.

“The syrup,” Ignis said, the sweet scent of sticky syrup wrapping its way around him; “is from Cleigne. And fresh for the season.”

“You do know we could have just gone out to a sugar shack, Specs? No need to bring it here?”

“Perhaps next weekend.” Ignis smiled to the oven, to the timer as it counted down the minutes while he caught his breath before channelling that customary anxiety into cleaning up. “I daresay I would like to test the recipe against the local dishes. And you really should be more familiar with the regional cultures of your kingdom…”

The dessert was decadent when it was finally served; the batter crumbled, barely held together in the syrup that had soaked into it during baking. When removed from the oven to cool, the apartment was filled with just the sweet scent of fresh spring syrup— steam from the dish beckoning them both to examine the cake in its fresh, golden glory. It had been hard to wait the recommended hours before serving; hard to focus with the promise of a sugar rush so close at hand, and so immediate. 

Ignis had wrapped his arms around Noctis on the sofa to keep him from prodding and sampling and testing. Soft mutterings of “patience, darling” breaking the stream of teasing kisses and easing the frustration they both felt at not diving into that warm concoction now congealing on the cleaned counter.

When it was served, Ignis remarked that he could see why it was commonly called a pudding. The cake was soaked through with the syrup and sauce, settled in it as it creamed in the hours it took to cool. And served at room temperature, with a bitter coffee for himself, the cake nearly crumbled as it was moved in tiny pieces into small bowls rather than plates. The sauce came with it, drizzled again on top until the sponge of the white cake was overflowing. 

Noctis savoured the sweet treat in small tastes— with soft noises as the sugar worked its magic into his system. He whined and managed small bites at a time, not used to the amount of sugar. The sugar and sweet flavoured their kisses for hours, the dish a siren’s call as it settled and they crashed together with fits of tired smiles and exhausted giggles brought forth by wandering hands.


	3. Mousse Tarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyx's traditions in spring always involve eggs

“It’s tradition!”

“Is it though?” Wiz’s had fully embraced the festivities of spring. Colourful eggs— yellow, green, white, blue, pink— were gathered around the farm grounds in soft, warm nests. Parent birds strutting and brooding while visitors watched and waited for the first hatching of the season. Noctis hadn’t even known that the Ranch held this sort of season long festival until Nyx told him. “Or is this a ‘Nyx Tradition’.”

“What’s the difference?”

The trees were budding around them, the first delicate leaves and sprigs unfurling as songbirds fluttered around them and adolescent Chocobos stretched their legs after the long winter. The sun, rising or setting, cast long shadows across the sheltered grounds, where snows still clung to the darkest shadows in the forest. Wiz wandered from nest to nest in daily inspections of the eggs; indignant hens squawking at him as he tried to see to the eggs. 

Noctis had thought the fresh air would be a nice way to welcome in spring. The Chocobos and promise of chicks were a bonus. 

He had followed Wiz around with treats for the birds to get them to co-operate, Nyx grinning as he stood a safer distance away. 

“A ‘Nyx Tradition,’” Noctis said, as he set the treats aside in favour of the proper meal being laid out across two of the tables; “is something you made up and no one in Eos has ever even heard of.”

“You said that about the ranch visit, little star.”

Noctis had to give him that point, at least. The ranch was a constant stream of activity. People passing through stopped for lunch, for breakfast, for diversions from the long roads across the kingdom. The long shadows cast by the ancient trees of the woods where Wiz had made his home beckoned the more adventurous of travellers— such as a Prince and his Glaive called out to the wide world by the promise of fresh seasons. 

And more rustic food. 

Wandering from nest to nest with Wiz, Noctis had ignored Nyx’s method of charming his way into the materials now set out on the table. He had missed the grin and the pleas and wheedling that had likely taken place throughout the day to prepare whatever new tradition was about to be unveiled. Nyx had taken over a table for himself. A sampling of ranch treats— fruits still barely coming into season, sweet breads, and sweeter concoctions— nearby as he set up a small basket of more common eggs and a handful of shallow glasses filled with colourful liquids. 

Noctis settled in the stiff, plastic chair, and took one of the creamy mousse tarts as Nyx demonstrated his grand scheme. They had become a favourite in the Ranch— the light, airy mousse switched for flavours, but always piled high with berries and fruits.

“Used to do this every spring when I was a kid.”

“Why?”

The egg was dipped from shallow bowl to shallow bowl, turned and tested and set aside on a piece of cloth that Noctis suspected would be a ridiculous mess of bright splotches and seeping dye by the end of Nyx’s artistic moment. Another egg was given a similar treatment, half submerged before being set to dry, and another followed. Nyx balanced each one as if it wasn’t a hardboiled treat, until the basket was empty and half-coloured eggs were drying in the afternoon sun. 

Warm winds moved across the farm from the distant Disk, the light of the burning meteor the only indication of how late the day was getting. Wiz had come by twice to check on them, children arriving for dinner with their parents came to watch, to speak with the Prince about the birds and the colour eggs. 

And Nyx let each egg dry for a spell before dipping it again, and again into the coloured mixtures laid out on the table. Some were a solid colour— a tiny imitation of a Chocobo egg— others were a cacophony of colours, all bright and speckled and imperfect as he slipped or an egg splashed and sloshed across the bowls. 

But Noctis smiled, because Nyx smiled at every tiny, colourful disaster. Stories of childhood in Galahd spilling as easily as the water. 

“Selena was always boring with her eggs,” Nyx said as the eggs dried after another round, some set back into the basket and declared finished. He had selected one of the dwindling tarts from Noctis’ horde, and spoke between bites of the light citrus mousse and the sweet berries piled high. “She’d pick the colours closest to actual Chocobo eggs every time.”

“And you made a mess every time?”

“Of course, little king.” Nyx grinned as he admired his handiwork. 

As Noctis admired him. 

Out in Duscae, he would hardly call Wiz’s Ranch a peaceful retreat— the birds, the heat, the strangeness of the forest looming around them in the light and standing as an imposing wall of shadow in the dark. But he liked the getaway. The way Nyx relaxed away from the city, the softness to him as the noises around them weren’t dominated by city voices and heavy traffic. Noctis took Nyx’ hand as the eggs dried, and picked at the fruits on the last of the tarts, until he could see what flavour the mousse was beneath. 

Nyx smiled to him; “The real challenge came afterwards, you know.”

“Why? What else could you possibly do to those poor eggs?”

“Draw the Chocobo that matched them.” 

The eggs were a mix of solid colours, pastels and darker hues. There were splotches and spots, dyes that had mixed unevenly and others that had slipped from Nyx’s careful grip. There were a few that appeared brown in one light, and a proper mix of messy colours in another. And Noctis grinned. 

“Want me to get you some paper?”


End file.
